Walls of Words
by RavenIdiot
Summary: Between running his diner, dealing with Taylor's superiority complex, being at Lorelai's beck and call, and trying to raise an unruly teenager incapable of staying out of trouble, Luke somehow managed to overlook the little things about his nephew that should have been raising red-flags. But when a stranger from Jess' past shows up at his diner, Luke senses something's off.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Everything I own fits in a suitcase, and this ain't in my suitcase.

Warning: may contain references to child abuse, rape, drugs, alcohol, Social Services, animal cruelty, and murder.

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**Prologue**

"How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the waggity tail! How much is that doggy in the window? I _do _hope that doggy's for sale." Liz sing-sang teasingly as she caught her eight-year-old son eying a grey-blue Dachshund pup through the pets-shop window.

"Too much for us," Jess returned, more concerned that his mother might actually buy the puppy than he was of not getting a pet. Things had been getting a little better (financially speaking) since Liz had gotten her new job as a mall pretzel-twister, but the money was still tight and most of it was going to pay off the drug-money debt Liz's last boyfriend had left them with. The last thing they needed now was a five-hundred dollar puppy to feed. "Besides, Mr. Wells doesn't allow pets."

"Well Mr. Wells doesn't have to know," Liz whispered playfully, winking at him as if they were in some fun conspiracy together. _Yeah, won't be so 'fun' when our landlord kicks us out onto the streets_, Jess thought exasperatedly.

To most kids his age a puppy represented the ultimate playmate- a live toy that they could romp around with, teach tricks to, and show off to their friends- a life companion that would comfort them when they were scared or sad and watch over them while they slept. But as Jess watched the bright-eyed puppy pawing at the glass that separated them, all he could think of was an orange tabby with a bite out of one ear. The one that Liz had smothered with a pillow when one of her shorter-lived boyfriends had used 'allergic to cats' as an excuse to leave after the initial two weeks of sharing her bed. She had told Jess _it was an accident_-_she didn't know it was under the pillow- she didn't mean to_- but Jess had _seen _her face. She knew what she was doing, she knew Jess had spent a whole week befriending the stray, earning its trust, letting it eat off of his own plate, she _knew _what it had meant to him, she just didn't _care_. She had felt abandoned, used, and angry. She needed someone to blame, and god forbid she blame the guy _responsible_- not when there was a convenient defenseless animal nearby.

"We don't need a dog," Jess stated firmly, turning away from the pet shop window and stalking back to the bench just inside the bookshop next to his mother's pretzel stand to retrieve the copy of _The Importance of Being Earnest _that he had left there when his mother had stopped for her lunch-break. Saturdays at the mall with his mother were starting to become comfortably familiar to him- routine even. At least there was a bookshop, and he didn't have to go to school. And he got a free soft pretzel for lunch.

"Well good mornin' to you Miss Danes," chimed a southern man with a white fedora as he sauntered up to the pretzel booth with all the easy charm of a dandy. "And how are you on this here fine weekend?"

"I'm good. I've got my son here with me today. He's over there in the bookshop." Jess shifted uncomfortably at being pointed out, but he kept his eyes glued on his book and pretended not to have heard. "Hey Jess, come meet Mr. Sullivan!"

Well there was no avoiding it now. Jess glanced up and muttered a weak "Hi."

"Shy isn't he?" the man observed with a smile, as he indicated his order to Liz.

"That's just Jess for you. I think he prefers books to people," Liz explained exasperatedly. "The next batch'll be done in a few minutes."

"Thank you kindly, I'll wait."

Jess nearly jumped when the southerner joined him on the bench, presumably to wait for his pretzel. The man gave him a benign smile in an obvious attempt to reassure the 'shy kid' that he wasn't a threat. Jess resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the clique he'd apparently been designated. He wasn't _shy_, he was just intentionally reserved.

"So what are you reading?" The man asked, tilting his hatted head to indicate Jess' open paperback.

Jess wordlessly held it up for the man to read the title.

"_The Importance of Being Earnest_? I would think that's a little above your age-level," the man commented.

"I'm eight," Jess replied defensively. He hated when people assumed he was younger just because he was small- and where was it written that you needed to be a certain age to read certain books anyway?!

"I meant no offense," The southerner placated, "In fact I think it's admirable a boy your age showing such a keen interest in classic literature."

Jess shrugged and re-found his place on page sixty-two. It took him a few minutes to realize the southern man was still intently watching him read.

Jess wasn't sure why he felt so relieved when his mother called over to the man that his pretzel was done, but he could definitely feel the tension in his shoulders drain as the man in the white fedora finally left his personal space.

The man paid for his pretzel with a tenner and told Liz to keep the seven-fifty worth in change. "Good day Miss Danes, good day Jess, I imagine we'll run into each other again." And he left with a tip of his hat.


	2. Chapter 1: OD

Disclaimer: I own Principal Hines, Mrs. Bentley, Odd Dog, and the fortuitous passersby. But I would trade them all for Jess in a heartbeat.

Thank you so much to my three reviewers!

And I apologize in advance for my novice attempt at ebonics in this next chapter, I really did_ try_.

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**Chapter 1: O.D.**

In aft-sight, choosing to elaborate on the paralleling similarities between schools and prisons for his five page essay was perhaps _not _his most politically correct decision. But the assignment had been to write about a social issue or reform he felt strongly about, so they were sort of asking for it.

Jess shifted to make himself more comfortable in his chair across from the principal's/warden's stately desk. Experience had taught him that these sorts of situations could drag out a while. Principal Hines had called Liz to come down to his office if she wanted to be present while he spoke with her son, but it was really more of a formality at this point. She'd never come before, and it'd never stopped him from 'talking' to Jess before.

Presently he was ranting quite animatedly about the evils of inciting riotous or rebellious ideas on school grounds, and quoting paragraphs from Jess' essay as if they were in court and it was written evidence against him.

"Sorry, I didn't realize they'd banned the First Amendment from the educational system," Jess cut in bluntly.

Principal Hines' eyes flashed with anger, but Jess held his gaze insubordinately. Hines' voice dropped several degrees as he continued, in an air of authoritative superiority; "This is the third time you've been sent to my office this week, Jess Mariano. I'm not particularly inclined to be lenient on you."

Jess sighed indifferently. "So what's it gonna be? Punitive segregation, losing yard privileges, restricting yard privileges, community service, transference to a higher level facility, or just an extended sentence?" _In school suspension, detention, janitorial work, school transference, or assigned summer school. _The parallels really _were _uncanny.

"As you are a repeat offender, and are _clearly _unrepentant- and seeing as Mrs. Bentley refuses to have you disturbing her class any more than you already have- I'm having you suspended till next Thursday. And don't think this isn't going down on your record Mariano." Hines tapped the ever-growing vanilla envelope on his desk meaningfully. When this failed to invoke a reaction from the trouble teen sitting across from him, the principal snarled a contemptuous; "Now get out of my office."

_Finally! _He didn't have to ask Jess twice. The sixteen-year-old was out the door faster than you could say 'supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious'. That is, if you were the kind of person to say such things.

Being held after school naturally meant that he had missed his bus, and Jess realized, with annoyance, that he would have to carry his backpack-full of library books the entire trek home. That was another similarity schools and prisons shared; they both had libraries and scheduled days when the students/inmates were allowed to visit them. Jess was just unlucky in missing his bus the day he'd decided to check out a multi-volume dictionary set, the comprehensive works of Shakespeare, _Mutiny on the Bounty_, Cooper's _The Red Rover_, and _Kidnapped_. On analysis, he had worked himself into a bit of a seafaring rut lately.

Hoisting his straining backpack up higher on his shoulders to try and better center the weight, Jess headed down the busy sidewalks of New York.

As much as he refused to give Hines the satisfaction of a reaction to his penalty, Jess really _wasn't_ looking forward to a week of suspension. For one, his teachers never sent him his homework when he was away, which meant he'd be a whole week behind when he was forced to come back. And two, not being allowed to attend school, and not being allowed _out_ of school during school hours, meant he'd be stuck at _home_ for a whole _week_. And if school was a prison, home was a war-zone.

Jess unconsciously slowed his pace at the mere thought of his destination. That's when a radish-sized rock hit him in the back of the neck. "Ack!"

"Yo! Jailbait, come 'ere," came a voice from the alley behind him, accented with typical ebonics of the streets.

Jess inhaled sharply before turning on his heels to face his antagonist. He relaxed a bit when he recognised the man, but he still wasn't about to follow the guy into a side alley out of the public view.

"You dat wack bitch's boy ain't'ch'ya?"

"What do you want?" Jess posed testily, finally placing where he'd seen the do-rag sporting African before. Odd Dog, presumably named for his ODD, but probably known just as well for his initials. Jess had seen him around the neighborhood, but never actually had to share words with him. He was one of Liz's dealer friends; the one who'd introduced her to her most recent 'prince charming'. Oh yeah, Jess had a _lot _to thank this guy for.

Apparently mistaking Jess' impatience for nerves, Odd Dog quickly tried to placate him. "'Ey boy, it's cool right? I aint gonna hurt you none, I just wanna word, yeah?" His matey tone seemed just a little too forced for Jess' liking, and there was nothing disarming about that off-white smile of his either.

"Try a dictionary," Jess suggested impassively, before quickly turning on his heels and picking up his pace.

But O.D. wasn't going to be put off so easily, as he fell into quick step beside the teen. "Yo, not cool little man, 'ere's me just wann'n ah talk 'n' you not givin' me da time a' day."

"It's a quarter past three," Jess shot back, without breaking stride.

The bruiser was up in Jess' grill in an instant, jerking him around by the shoulders and and looming over him domineeringly. "Don't you be dissin' me, white trash tard! This is _my_ hood, you feelin' me?"

_No, you're cutting off the blood circulation to my arms, you catachrestic moron, _Jess thought acidly. But on re-assessment of Odd Dog's size, the level of aggression in the bruising grip he had on Jess' shoulders, and taking into account the side of town they were in, Jess decided it best to play it cool and keep his mouth shut and head down this time. At least till he knew what the guy wanted.

"Yeah dat's right beat, uncle's da word," O.D. crowed, recognizing the submissive gesture.

_Enjoy it while it lasts_, Jess thought back rebelliously, deciding to give this street-cur no more than five minutes to say whatever it was he wanted before engaging him in any sort of real verbal battle.

"Yo, what'cha you lookin' at man?"

_My shoes? _A quick glance up and Jess spotted the man being addressed; a fortuitous passersby in a suit jacket and jeans who had stopped to watch the unfolding scene with marked disapproval.

"'ey, all's good 'ere, we's just homies, keep'n it real," Odd Dog assured the stranger, releasing his openly-aggressive grip on Jess' shoulders, and slinging an arm around him instead, to keep him in place in an equally controlling, yet less incriminating-looking hold. "Aint that right jailbait?" There was no mistaking the warning in his tone, and Jess could feel a sharp pain jabbing the back of his shoulder as the African subtly dug a concealed switchblade in, just enough to let Jess know it was there, in case he choose to speak out.

"Yep. Thick as mortar. That's us." Jess made no attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. However the fortuitous passersby seemed to have no problem ignoring it and taking Jess' words at face value, since he nodded his satisfaction and kept walking. People were so easy to lie to when they wanted to believe what you were saying.

"I think we need to take dis little chat somewhere more comfortable like," O.D. muttered, snapping his switchblade shut as the not-so-fortuitous-after-all passersby disappeared around a corner. Jess really couldn't do much but dig in his heels, as the larger African dragged him into the side alley he had been trying to coax Jess into before. Once safely tucked away behind a cardboard-filled dumpster, Odd Dog shoved Jess up against one of the graffiti-littered walls, jamming his shoulders back against the hardback books in his backpack. "Now you listen 'ere boy and you listen good, cause I got some bidness with you momma's man dat you's gonna help me with."

_Well that's uncommonly cooperative of me, _Jess thought dryly.

Sparing a furtive glance down both ways of the empty alley, Odd Dog pulled a plastic bag out from tucked into his belt under his shirt, and Jess caught a glimpse of a gun tucked next to it. Jess could feel his pulse pick up, but he willed himself to breath.

"You know what dis is don't ya boy?" O.D. asked, waving the bag of white powder in front of Jess' face.

"Magic fairy dust?" Jess guessed innocently, making a subtle jab at the guys manlyhood. Which was apparently not subtle _enough _since it earned him a hard cuff to the ear.

"Powdered sidewalk chalk in a sandwich bag," Jess corrected quickly, through clenched teeth, trying to maintain some form of impunity through fronted ignorance.

"Yeah, dat's right," snickered the African. "And you momma's man 'as gotta have his _chalk _now don't he? Dat's what he pays for, dat's what he gets; dat's how I do bidness."

"Sounds transactional," Jess commented. Which earned him another vicious cuff over the head. _Geesh! I said transactional, not transsexual!_

"Hell, what's wrong with you boy? You keep you face shut when I talkin' at you!" O.D. snapped, increasing his one-handed grip on the teen's collar and lifting his feet an inch or two off the sidewalk with unnerving ease. "Now you man has this due him." And he once again waved the 'chalk' in front of Jess' face. "But I- I can't be seen with him 'round 'ere no more; and I aint goin' on no run arounds neither." O.D. released his hold on Jess, letting him fall the two inches back to the sidewalk, scraping his backpack against the wall and probably damaging his precious library books. "Dat's where you come in, see _you's_ gonna give _dis_ ta _him_ for _me_."

_Like he isn't bad enough sober?_ Jess thought incredulously. And besides which there was no way he was letting that stuff anywhere _near _Liz. She'd promised him she was clean now, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd lied to his face. "No."

It was amazing how fast a situation could snowball out of control. One syllable of obstinance and Odd Dog had Jess flipped around with his powerful hands on Jess' lower back and head, grinding his face into the wall with a vice-like pressure.

"What you mean 'no' tard?! I said you's gonna give dis ta him, you's gonna give dis ta him! 'N' I ain't takin' no 'no's from no white trash ho's unclaimed fetus neither! Now you feelin' me or not?" O.D. growled into Jess' ear, his breath smelling strongly of cigarettes and onion rings.

Jess tilted his head to the side so he could look his attacker squarely in the eye, and avoid further crushing of his nose. "Find someone else. Drench it in perfume, splurge on a stamp and take your chances with the post office. Put it in a bottle with a note and send it down the East River. Sneak it into a pizza box and send it through Domino's delivery service. Resurrect Cher Ami for all I care! I'm _not _your delivery boy."

"Man, if you isn't da stupidest anklebiter I ever seen." With unbridled brutality Odd Dog tore Jess' cumbersome backpack off his shoulders, hurled it in the dumpster, and forced the teen to his knees. Jess heard a switchblade snap open behind his head and mentally cursed himself for forgetting about that. He was fairly sure O.D. wouldn't all out shoot him over a bag of crack, but there was no telling what he was planning on doing with that blade. Jess was suddenly feeling very exposed without his backpack.

"How big do you think you is, little man?" the African goaded, tracing the knife's cold blade along the shell of Jess' ear menacingly. "I eat you kind for breakfast, 'n' you wouldn't even be a mouthful. 'N' you think you can diss _me_?- homey don't play that!"

Jess' mind was racing as the knife prickling his ear was slid smoothly down his arm, cutting through the sleeve of his green tee, and drawing a thin line of blood down to his elbow. In a moment of clarity Jess spotted a small drain grate about ten feet away, and with adrenalin-driven speed he made a one-handed grab for the knife, twisted it out of his attacker's fist, and tossed it towards the drain. By some stroke of luck, the thin blade slipped through the rusty metal grating and disappeared down into the sewers.

Jess knew, even in the moment, that his action wasn't going to spare him any pain. But he'd had enough experience to know bruises were a lot easier to cover up than cuts, and a hell of a lot easier to make up cover stories for. After all, there were only so many times you could '_accidentally_ _fall through a window' _before people started to wonder.

"Oh you is _dead_ boy! Meat in da market _dead!_" Jess' knees buckled under him as Odd Dog's foot came down between his shoulder blades, grinding him face-down into the sidewalk. The pressure pinning him to the ground increased as O.D. shifted his full weight onto the teen's back, crushing the breath out of Jess' lungs, and causing a sickeningly loud crack. Pain overloaded Jess' senses, and he would have cried out loud if he'd had the breath to cry with. That's when the kicking began.

Jess instinctively curled into the fetal position to protect his head and vital organs. Unfortunately, it left his injured back exposed, and that's where O.D. aimed the majority of the ruthless blows that followed. By the time Odd Dog had finally gotten over his initial rage, Jess was silently thanking the better half of his luck that the drug-dealer was wearing sneakers and not cowboy boots. He'd probably look something like swiss cheese otherwise.

"Hell, look what you made me do jailbait." Odd Dog groused, the barest hint of compunction creeping into his tone. "I didn't want ta hurt you none but you wanna be so stupid, givin' me no choice like 'ceptin' to put some sense in you head. You dead or somthin' boy? Get up, I'm talkin' at you!"

Without a thought to Jess' injuries, O.D. yanked the teen off the ground by his slit arm. Jess cringed, but kept his mouth shut. Words had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

"Now you bring dis to you man like I told you and we don't have to do this no more," O.D. stated, and he offered Jess the plastic bag again. Jess could feel O.D.'s grip on his arm tighten in response to his hesitation, and there was a dangerous look in the African's eyes that scared Jess more than the violence. With a quavering hand, Jess finally took the bag of drugs.

Odd Dog's face split into that off-white grin of his as he released the battered teen's arm. "Good boy. Now you hurry on home and keep outta trouble you hear?"

Jess grabbed his backpack out of the dumpster, where it'd been so carelessly thrown, wondering briefly how badly hurt his library books were. With one last wary glance back at the drug-dealer, Jess limped out of the alley.

"'N' tell you momma I said hey," Odd Dog called after him, but Jess didn't reply. He had no intention of mentioning this to anyone, especially not Liz.


	3. Chapter 2: Pain in the Back

Disclaimer: My name is not Amy Sherman-Palladino, but if it _was_, this would all be mine! Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!**  
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Author's note: Thank you so much BabyGlover and Sammygirl1209 for reviewing my last chapter! And for all those reading this and thinking; '_When are we going to get to Stars Hollow already?!_' I'm sorry it's taking so long, and I promise we're almost there. Please just bear with me here.

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**Chapter 2: Pain in the Back**

_The Bar Nun _wasn't the most scrupulous of establishments, but it was close and Jess knew the barkeep there. Despite it's dingy _Cheers_-want-to-be atmosphere, Liz loved the place, and Jess had spent many evenings reading at the back table, while keeping an eye on his mother, and making sure she didn't leave with any questionable strangers. Keeping his backpack held in front of his bloodied arm, Jess pushed through the front door into the poorly lit pub. The bartender looked up from cleaning his counter and greeted the teen with an easy-going smile.

"Hey bookworm, haven't seen you around lately. Where's your mum?"

Jess shrugged, suppressing a wince at the unexpected jolt of pain the small movement caused between his shoulder blades. "Home." Jess could only hope he sounded casual. He didn't feel casual, and the last thing he needed right now was to draw unwanted attention- not with a half pound of crack in his backpack. "Can I use your restroom?"

"Yeah, sure." The barkeep gestured to the side hallway. "Down the hall, on the left, mural of a stick figure dude and the word 'restroom' on it. You can't miss it."

Jess rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

Once safely locked into the farthest bathroom stall, away from prying eyes, Jess unzipped his backpack, opened the bag of crack, and emptied the whole thing into the toilet. Then he threw the bag away in the trash and flushed the drugs down the drain.

Jess let go of the tense breath he'd been holding since O.D. had shoved the incriminating drugs off on him. A small part of him was angry that he hadn't just taken the drugs and disposed of them to begin with. He could have so easily averted the weeks worth of pain and recovery ahead of him if he had just kept his stupid mouth shut and head down. And he could have avoided all of this if he had just picked a less radical subject for his essay, not have gotten suspended, and caught his bus, like every other Tom, Dick, and Harry in his class. But he was a screw up- the biological result of two screw ups screwing up. His life was his parent's mistake to begin with, and he'd done nothing but follow in their footsteps off the beaten path since.

_And here I am sitting in a bathroom stall feeling sorry for myself and blaming my parents for my problems,_ Jess realized with disgust. _I might as well done black eyeshadow, get some tactless piercings, start listening to Tokio Hotel, cut my wrists, and find a good pillow to cry into while I'm at it!_

Realizing he wasn't being particularly productive, Jess turned his attentions back to his open backpack and the battered library books inside. They were all a little damaged- just bent pages mostly, except for _Kidnapped_, which had gotten torn out of it's cover by all the mishandling. Jess was fairly certain he could sew or glue it back together when he got home, but the knowledge did nothing to numb his chagrin at the injury. Books were people's voices, thoughts, and collective knowledge in print, and to Jess, damaging one was practically a sacrilegious act. Besides which they were from the school library, and he didn't have the money to replace them. After smoothing out all the creased pages and carefully placing the books back into his backpack, Jess finally attended to his own injuries.

Now that the initial adrenaline had worn off, his upper back hurt like Hades and all the underworld, and he had to greatly limit any movement of his shoulders to keep from aggravating it further. The blood on his arm was still wet, oozing down his elbow, and getting all over his side. The cut wasn't half as bad as it looked, but it felt raw, and it stung badly at the spot O.D. had grabbed him. Jess cleaned the cut out in the bathroom sink with warm water, and wrapped it with paper towels and scotch tape from his backpack. It was probably going to leave a scar without stitches, but he wasn't going to try sewing it shut himself, and going to a doctor was out of the question. They'd have the Social Services down on Liz in an instant.

Jess made one last check in the mirror for any other visible damage, but other than his poorly bandaged arm, there were only a few slight scrapes, which could easily be excused away on any number of perfectly normal things, and would be gone in a day or two. Everything else was out of sight, and Jess could fake being alright until he was. He had a week till he had to go back to school, and Liz was usually fairly oblivious to whatever was going on with him anyhow. And her boyfriend couldn't care less.

Jess retrieved his backpack from the stall and headed out of the bathroom, again keeping his bag in front of his injured arm. He was hoping to make it out of the Bar Nun without further encounter, but the barkeep had apparently been waiting for him.

"You feeling alright?" He asked dubiously. "You were in there for a while."

"Yeah, the paper towel dispenser was jammed," Jess lied, trying not to look too guilty, and willing the bartender not to press the matter. He didn't, and Jess was glad to get out of the bar and away from the scrutiny.

The walk home was less than a mile, but it felt longer. Unable to hoist his weighty backpack onto his shoulders without causing undue pain, Jess had been forced to carry the bag, and the strain it put on his injured arm had caused it to start bleeding through the makeshift bandage. He had warm sticky blood soaking the side of his shirt by the time he made it to his apartment building.

Usually when Jess wanted to sneak in without being seen he would climb on top of the trash cans lined up at the side of the building and pull himself up onto the fire escape. But he didn't feel like attempting it now, what with his back feeling like it had taken the blow of a battering ram. Instead he snuck in through the side door and waited till the coast was clear before making a bee-line for the stairs. The elevator would be faster, but Jess never took elevators anymore. Too many bad memories.

Liz's apartment was on the fifth story, and Jess was completely out of breath by the time he made it up the last flight to their floor. His backpack had never felt heavier. As Jess snuck into his room, he could hear Liz arguing with Brian (this month's boyfriend) in the kitchen about water damage or something. He really couldn't care less at the moment. Jess dropped his backpack by the foot of his bed, and, resisting the urge to fall face-flat on his mattress, he grabbed the scotch tape from his backpack, and a long-sleeved shirt from his laundry bin, and headed straight for the bathroom.

Jess set the clean shirt on the counter as he hastily washed and re-bandaged his arm with more paper towels and tape. Then he carefully removed his blood-soaked tee, as his back painfully protested the movement. For the first time since the attack, Jess caught a glimpse of his bare back in the cracked bathroom mirror over his shoulder, and he couldn't help the revulsion it incited in the pit of his stomach. It was an awful mosaic of blacks, purples, reds, and blues, speckled across his back in clusters of bruises overlapping old scars, and darkening considerably between his shoulder blades. Jess quickly turned away in disgust and tried to pull his clean shirt on without moving his shoulders too much.

There was a loud rap on the door, and Jess could tell from the brusque force behind it that it was Brian. "Hey, Jess, out of the bathroom, you're done."

_This isn't __your_ _house until you start pitching in with the rent_, Jess thought contemptuously. Rising up on his tiptoes he snagged the almost empty bottle of Advil from the top shelf of their ill-stocked medicine cabinet, and took two. He slipped the other four pills in his back pocket for later, grabbed his blood-stained tee from the counter, bunched it up so none of the blood was showing, and opened the door.

"Took your sweet time," Brian snapped. But his expression changed suddenly, as his eyebrows drew together, and he leaned in closer to the teen as if to whisper something in his ear. "Why do you smell like burnt rubber?"

Jess' eyes narrowed challengingly. "Better question, why are you _smelling _me?"

Brian gave him a light smack upside the head for his cheek, and then shoved past him into the bathroom, slamming the door on Jess' heels.

"Jess, Jess, is that you baby?" came Liz's perky voice from the kitchen.

Jess wanted nothing more than to pretend he hadn't heard her, go plop down on his bed, and sleep till he woke up to find his life was all just a bad dream, or a poorly written drama. But that was wishful thinking. Feeling just a little put-upon, and desperately weary from his day, Jess dutifully trudged over to the kitchen to see what his mother wanted.

Liz was crouching by the sink, positioning a pot under a dripping pipe in the cabinet below said sink. She had a new hickey at the base of her neck, half visible from under the collar of her robin-egg-blue shirt. Jess balled his fists and looked away, trying not to focus on it. He really _didn't _need a reminder that yet another crack-head was nailing his mother while he was off at school.

"Jess, where've you been honey? School let out hours ago."

"Out," Jess answered monosyllabically.

"Your principal called." Liz mentioned conversationally, using the countertop to pull herself to her feet. "He told me you were suspended, so I was thinking now you'll have time to work on fixing our busted pipe." She didn't even seem mad at all, like it was simply 'convenient' for her that he'd been kicked out of school. He didn't _want _to be in trouble for getting suspended, but somehow, he felt like he _should _be.

"Why don't you ask your _boyfriend _to fix it?" Jess asked testily.

"Well I _did_, but he has that clausephobia thing; you know, when you can't go in little spaces," Liz explained, without a trace of sarcasm or resent.

_Sure he does. _God, Liz was gullible. "Claustrophobia," Jess corrected neutrally.

"Yeah! So I said; 'no biggy, Jess can do it, he'll fit under there like a mole in a hole.' Besides, you like to read, and I got you this great book, see?" Liz picked a black and yellow '_Plumbing for Dummies_' book off the counter and handed it to her son. "I figured you can look over it tonight and get started on the repairs in the morning."

_Yippy. _"Thanks," Jess muttered, taking the proffered book.

He could hear the staticy T.V. turn on in the other room, followed by Brian's predictable; "Hey Lizzy, get me a beer, will ya?"

As Liz went off to cater to her boyfriend, Jess slunk back to his room.

Tossing the how-to plumbing book on the cardboard box he used as a nightstand, Jess eased down onto his old spring mattress, and reached at random for one of his library books. _The Red Rover, by James Fenimore Cooper. _

Jess settled back, cracked it open, and allowed himself to get completely lost in the words, temporarily escaping to the high seas on a disguised pirate ship with a mysterious green-clad gentleman.


End file.
